Chapter Text
It was no secret that you and Steve Harrington didn’t get along.
There really was no rhyme or reason for it, you and Steve just had never seen eye to eye. He annoyed you for seemingly no real reason and your incessant need to be right rubbed him the wrong way. You could barely be in the same room for more than five minutes without arguing.
And so, it was only a matter of time before your brother intervened.
“Okay—who did it?” You ask as soon as you enter the WSQK basement. "Who had the last bag of my chocolate covered pretzels?"
Dustin and Nancy glance at each other before they shake their heads. Jonathan murmurs a soft “wasn’t me”. Robin pulls a face of disgust.
But Steve? He's quiet. Too quiet. Steve Harrington was never quiet.
It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together.
“I ran out of bopers,” Steve says with shrug. No apology. Like it was nothing. Not even looking up from the map that the group had been pouring over when you entered the basement . But you could see the way his lips were twitching as though he was trying hard not to smile.
Everyone can sense the argument that was about to happen.
"Harrington! That was my last bag," you snap at him. "Murray said he won't be able to get me anymore for another month!"
"Whoops," Steve mutters, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face this time as you approach him, your eyes ablaze with anger. "Looks like you'll have to—"
"—finish that sentence, Harrington and I’ll—"
"—you'll what? Throw your pretzels at me? Oh wait—"
"—you're such an asshole, you—"
There was a clicking sound and a sudden tightness around your right wrist. You blink and look down just in time to see your brother securing the other end of handcuff around Steve's wrist and clicking it shut.
"Dude?!" Steve exclaims angrily, going to shove Dustin away but a yelp of pain from you as you tumble forward—owing to the fact you were now handcuffed together—stops him. "The fuck Henderson—"
"Hopper needs you two to stop arguing," Dustin explains. "You both pull focus when you argue. We're trying to stop the world from ending and you guys keep arguing over stupid shit. So, he told me to cuff you guys next time you're at each other's throats."
Your jaw drops. Steve's jaw clenches. You glance at each other for a brief moment before looking away.
Nancy and Jonathan look mildly entertained by the whole thing and Robin looks slightly pained from trying to hold in her laughter.
"This is against my human rights," Steve protests and you let out a snort of laughter.
"What about my human rights?" You retort.
"You're human?" Steve asks, turning to look at you with a raised brow. "That's news to me—"
"Point proven," Dustin interrupts before you could even think of snapping back.
You glare at Steve before turning back to look at your brother because maybe, just maybe he and Hopper had a point. "Okay, we get it," you say, wincing as Steve attempts to yank the cuffs off. "We argue a lot—"
"—we'll tone it down," Steve promises half-heartedly. You can tell he doesn't really mean it but you'd believe it if it meant no longer being cuffed to Steve Harrington.
Dustin clicks his tongue and you can tell he doesn't believe a word Steve says.
"Yeah—the only way you two are going to get the keys to those cuffs are if you actually stop arguing. Become friends—"
"Friends?!" You repeat, horrified. "With him? No way—"
"—Oh, like you're a ray of sunshine—"
"Guys!" It's Nancy this time who interrupts the two of you and both you and Steve go quiet.
"You're not getting the key until you stop so learn to be friends or stayed chained together for the foreseeable future. Until then? No more crawls. For either of you."
You huff, Steve once again tries to shove his hand out of the cuffs and groans when he realises there was no other way out of this but the damn key.
"Fine," he relents, turning to face you with a slight smirk. "You're lucky I don't need to take a leak, Henderson."
You nearly bite back a snappy retort but you catch Nancy's eye and stop yourself.
This was going to be a long night.
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The crawl went off without a hitch, apparently, that's what Dustin had told you over the walkie. Your stomach had turned with annoyance at the fact you had been absent from the crawl. Since your evening had been spent trying to make dinner at Steve Harrington’s house while handcuffed together.
It had gone horribly, Steve had overcooked the pasta and you had nearly burned him with the sauce and you had argued over that. You argued again over who would wash the dishes and who would dry. Then again over what to watch on TV. Steve reminded you that it was his house. You had corrected him that it was actually his parent's house. He had gone quiet after that. Part of you wonders if you want too far. You knew his parents had left Hawkins without him just before quarantine had started. Still, you didn't apologise.
As the night stretched on and you felt your eyelids begin to close, you knew you were in trouble. Because making dinner together and washing up dishes was one thing but sleeping with the cuffs on?
Steve says your name and you blink awake. Your head was resting against his shoulder and you instantly pull away from him as though burned.
"Sleepy?" He asks, amused and trying to hide signs of his own drowsiness. You can see the way his jaw twitches as he tries to suppress a yawn.
"A little," you mutter, not looking at him.
You didn't know how to approach it—going to sleep. Getting dressed—or undressed rather—for bed was out of the question. You'd probably have to sleep in the same bed. Probably have to figure out a way to lie beside each other comfortably. The thought of it made your stomach turn in a way that you decided not to question.
"I'm pretty spent too," Steve murmurs, going to stand up before pausing. He knows he has to wait for you to stand up too because he had nearly pulled your arm out of its socket the last time he had done so. "You ready?"
You swallow but nod because honestly, it couldn't get worse than cooking dinner with him.
Steve's bedroom is exactly like you had imagined it to be (not like you had ever imagined his bedroom). Plaid bedsheets, an array of basketball trophies, pictures of cars for some reason and a not-so surprising amount of hair care products on top of a chest of drawers.
"Farrah Fawcett spray?" You ask Steve, amused but he shoots you a look that plainly told you that he would be smothering you in your sleep if you ever brought up the hairspray again.
You ended up both lying on your backs beneath the covers. Both still in your jeans and t-shirts since undressing in front of each other was a line that you both refused to cross. it was uncomfortable, not all how you usually liked to sleep. But you had no choice.
Steve fell asleep pretty quickly. Unfortunately for you, Steve snored. It wasn't loud, not like Dustin who could probably wake the dead with his snoring but it was constant. It sets your teeth on edge. He also moved about a lot. He kept trying to move his arm, which would cause your arm to move too. He kept moving closer to you in his sleep which made you shimmy closer to the edge of the bed. It was impressive, really. How even in his sleep, Steve Harrington still annoyed you.
After an hour of what you were beginning to consider torture, you really began to debate whether or not to wake him up. Or smother him. Whichever made him shut up quicker. Just as you began to work up the courage to shove him—you hear it.
A whimper.
You blink. You glance towards the window, figuring it was a bird, perhaps. Or a deer in the woods that sat beside the Harrington home.
But then you hear it again.
A small, terrified whimper.
And you knew with absolute certainty that the noise had come from Steve.
It made you stop. Pause. Thoughts of shoving him off the bed leave your mind as you look over at him. He was no longer stretched out in bed with ease—he was curled up into himself. His body shaking, causing the cuff around his wrist to jingle. His face was screwed up in distress.
The sight of Steve Harrington cowering in bed like a child scared of monsters made your heart clench.
And then he made that noise again and you couldn't just watch. Couldn’t just wait for the whimpering to pass.
"Hey," you say, surprised by how gentle your voice is and even more surprised at how your uncuffed hand reaches out to touch his arm. His skin was hot. Clammy. "Hey, w-wake up."
You shake him. Just a little. Just enough to wake him up. Steve just lets out another noise, your stomach drops and then—it hits you. He was having a nightmare.
You move your body closer, your hand rubbing his skin, hoping to wake him up. Pull him back into reality.
"Harrington—wake up. Please. Whatever you're seeing—it's not real. Please just wake up—"
It's when your hand moves from his arm to rub his back that he jerks awake. His hand reaches for yours—the one that was cuffed to his—and you feel something in your gut stir. Something in your chest tightens. And you finally catch the look on his face. He looks shameful and terrified and it makes you move closer, makes you lift your hand from his back to cup his face.
"It's okay," you whisper, your thumb rubbing along his cheek almost tenderly. "It was just a nightmare. Not real."
Steve looks at you—with big, sad looking eyes that you don’t remember being so hazel or so pretty. You surprise yourself at the thought—to you, Steve Harrington and pretty didn’t belong in the same sentence. But you had thought it, even if it was for a brief moment. Your face warms a little but now wasn’t the time to interrogate your thoughts about Steve and his pretty eyes.
“Hey,” you murmur gently, tapping his cheek when he doesn’t respond. “You with me?”
Steve swallows, eyes flickering between yours before he nods. “Yeah, I—I’m with you,” he whispers quietly, so quietly that you have to lean in to hear him. “I’m s-sorry, I didn’t think it would—”
“—you don’t—you don’t have to apologise,” you say quietly, dropping your hand from his cheek to rest back on his arm, cautiously this time. You didn’t know if it was still okay to touch him but there was something in your gut telling you that the very last thing he wanted was for you to stop touching him. “It—it’s okay. I get nightmares too sometimes.”
The admission slips out of you before you could stop it. Before you had really thought about what you were telling Steve. Before you thought about admitting those words meant. But before you could think any deeper about it, Steve was turning his head fully to look at you. The cuffs around your wrists jingle as he rolls onto his side. You feel him squeeze your hand—which you had only just realised he was still holding—and it makes you look back at him. At those stupid, pretty hazel eyes of his.
“You do?” He asks.
You nod and then—because you notice how quick his breathing is, because you can still see the slight panic in his eyes—you continue. Because somehow you knew that what Steve needed right now was to not feel alone, “W-when Billy was—y’know, controlled by the mind flayer he tried to—to take me there. To the mind flayer. He tried to knock me out and p-put me in his car and if El hadn’t found me—”
“—Jesus,” Steve interrupts, unable to stop himself, though you welcomed the interruption. You had a feeling if you kept talking, you might have never stopped. You might have told him every dark thought you had when Billy Hargrove had tried slamming your head against the hood of a car. “I had no idea.”
“I promised Max and El not to tell anyone,” you say quietly. “I didn’t want Dustin to find out.”
Steve’s expression softens, his hand in yours tightens, the cuffs jingle.
“I keep—I keep having dreams about—about what the Russians did,” Steve tells you, his eyes moving to glance up at the ceiling.
“What did they do?” You ask, your eyes on him.
“Th—they kept hitting me. They beat me and didn’t care how much I yelled, how much I begged them to stop. And then—then they told me that they were going to hurt Robin. Find Dustin and Erica and hurt them too. Then they told me I was going to die. That no one was going to find me that—that no one would care to look for me.”
You’re so horrified that you can’t speak and even if you could, you didn’t know what to say. You just held his hand a little tighter.
“I would have noticed,” you say finally. “Who else would tell me I was a know-it-all?”
Steve does something then you weren’t expecting. He laughs. The sound is bright, warm and before you knew it, you were laughing too. You laugh for what feels like hours but what was in actual fact was maybe five minutes. It was just what you both needed after opening up to each other.
When you finally stop laughing, you turn your head to see Steve looking at you. Those pretty hazel eyes of his soft, his smile wide.
“You’re not so bad after all, Henderson,” he says, nudging you with his elbow. “Maybe being chained together was exactly what we needed.”
Your mouth twitches. “Maybe.”
“Friends?” He asks.
“Friends.”
He smiles at you and you find yourself smiling back. He lets go of your hand and you realise that you already miss the warmth. Your hand stays on his arm for a brief second before you pull away.
It’s quiet again then.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” you say softly. “What I said about the house. About it being your parents and not yours. That was—it wasn’t cool of me to say that especially cause your parents—.”
You cut yourself off, swallowing as you look up at his ceiling. Steve seems to mull over your apology or perhaps he was just thinking about his parents leaving him behind. You weren’t sure.
“It’s okay,” he says finally, his voice a little thick. “I’m sorry for eating the last bag of your pretzels but in my defence—they were really nice.”
You fight back a smile and it surprises you how you didn’t feel annoyed. How you no longer really cared about that bag of chocolate covered pretzels he had eaten without asking.
“Long as you make sure to give me a few of yours bopers, we’re even.”
Steve laughs as you find your heart doing traitorous things in your chest when he laughs at something you say. Again—you try not to think about that.
“Deal,” he says, shifting under the covers a little and you feel his hand find yours. “Anything for a friend.”
You roll your eyes but you can’t help smiling. Because maybe being friends with Steve Harrington wouldn’t be so bad.
Steve then says your name and you turn to look at him.
"Yeah, Steve?" you say. Not Harrington. But Steve.
"I think I need to pee."
And just like that, you and Steve were laughing again.
And maybe—just maybe, Steve realised that he liked the sound of your laugh. And maybe you realised you liked his hand in yours.
Whatever the case, Steve wanted to make you laugh again and you didn’t want to let go of his hand.
Yeah—you thought as you began to drift off to sleep—friends with Steve Harrington wasn’t so bad after all.